


arrêté

by soracia



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Jehan, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Estranged Parents, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Genderqueer Character, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, POV Outsider, Permanent Injury, Pining, Romantic Asexual Character, Threesome - M/M/Other, Touch-Starved, Touching, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:11:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2129721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soracia/pseuds/soracia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>arrêté</b> - (vt. <i>arreter</i>, ppart. - arrested, stopped, halted)  - <i>Enjolras hears Grantaire screaming in pain, and suddenly everything around him stops; he is inexplicably hung up on that single point in time, waylaid by a bewildering storm of emotion. Grantaire's future is also caught in limbo, the degree of his recovery uncertain, and somehow Enjolras cannot stand to see him like this. He's going to stay right beside Grantaire and help him recover as much as he can even if it kills him, and it feels like it might.</i></p><p>[aka shameless self-indulgent h/c, Enjolras all shaken up by R getting badly injured & not actually knowing why it affected him so much but stubbornly helping him thru recovery anyway while he tries to figure out his confusing ~feelings~][Also this is now an ensemble fic, there will be fairly equal focus on all story threads and relationships/pairings; plenty of pining and emotional h/c as well as the physical, and it's going to be long--very long.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enjolras

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, style is going to be weird because this fic is a bit stream-of-consciousness, and the first chapter in particular is rough because Enjolras is pretty shocky, so it’s erratic and choppy, meant to reflect the chaotic and recursive thought patterns of something like a panic/anxiety attack. I apologise in advance for the brackets inside parentheses. ;) 
> 
> As far as the fic as a whole goes, it's ridic and shamelessly self-indulgent hurt/comfort fic, with all the attendant fluffy angst and melodrama, but I don't care. :D I just wanted to write Enjolras _freaking out_ and being incredibly shaken up by Grantaire getting so badly injured  & not actually knowing why it affected him so much, but stubbornly sticking by his side and helping him through recovery anyway while he tries to figure out all his confusing ~feelings~ XD I have no regrets, and I make no apologies! 
> 
> Also this is now an ensemble fic, there will be fairly equal focus on all story threads and relationships/pairings; plenty of pining and emotional h/c as well as the physical injury recovery! It's gotten massively more complex and detailed than I planned on, so it'll be long--very long, with detailed development of all characters and relationships; it should be quite a ride. Strap in and hang on! ;D
> 
> For [flutterings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterings), as always, [shinygreenwords](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shinygreenwords) and [freakierthanthou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Freakierthanthou), with much thanks for their encouragement to go ahead and post something so purely self-indulgent, beta comments & talking things out, hand-holding, &c. ilu all! ♥

Enjolras didn't see exactly what happened. 

He might hate himself a little bit for that, even if there's no earthly reason why he should have, it's not like it's his responsibility, like anything here is his fault, there is...no reason for him to feel guilty that he wasn't watching, didn't see, wasn't paying attention (all the time) at the time, except that he knows, he _knows_ (how does he know?) that if it had been the other way around, Grantaire would have been watching _him_. Would have seen it, would have been halfway over to him before he hit the ground. 

They aren't dating, they aren't...anything, they're barely even friends, there's no reason whatsoever that he should feel guilty about this (even if they were, it's irrational and he knows it) but still. 

He hates himself for that, just a little bit.

But the truth is, he's almost glad of it, because the sound that is going to live in his nightmares now really, _really_ doesn't need (more of) an image track to accompany it. Likely it wouldn't have looked as bad as it sounded, but still. That sound does not need any help in flaying him with horror and freezing him to the bone.

It was an accident, of course, they'd had a meeting outside for once, in the park with a picnic because Courfeyrac had insisted that the weather was too nice to not take advantage of, so it had been a much more relaxed and casual meeting than usual; even Enjolras had to admit that it had been good for them all to have a chance to just relax and enjoy themselves for one day. 

After the short meeting most of them stayed and just hung out for awhile, breaking up into smaller conversation groups or playing around, an impromptu game of football here or a little roughhousing there. Enjolras was still sitting on the sidelines, talking with Combeferre, and while he'd been peripherally aware that Bahorel and Grantaire had begun sparring over in an open patch of grass, he hadn't been actually watching them. 

(He may have been making a deliberate effort not to watch them. Possibly. Not that he knows why. But he might have been. [He might hate himself a little for that, too.])

They weren't boxing, but rather some kind of martial arts he thought, something he wasn't familiar with, that Grantaire didn't seem to be overly familiar with either - Bahorel had been showing Grantaire something new, teaching or training him perhaps, and they had both been grinning fiercely, laughing occasionally when they screwed up and had to pick themselves up or untangle themselves and try again. 

It all looked fairly deadly to Enjolras, who preferred to use his words to fight his battles, rather than any kind of physical engagement, so the only reason he wasn't worried about someone getting hurt was that he knew both of them were experienced and excellent at that kind of thing and sparred often, so they knew what they were doing. Right.

That made it all the more jarring when he heard the sound, cutting effortlessly through all the noise of various conversations and activity around them, a high, thin, agonizing sound that was half a scream, half keening whine that sounded inhuman, and entirely bloodcurdling. His head snapped around just in time to see Grantaire crumpling to the ground like a discarded tissue, shaking and shuddering all over because he was in too much pain to actually writhe, and the sound just kept going on and on, a high-pitched screamsob of agony. 

It was an accident, of course it was, but Enjolras didn't know exactly what had happened because he _hadn't been watching_. He shouldn't feel guilty about that, anymore than Bahorel should feel like it was his fault (though it might have been, could have been, Enjolras would like to have someone to blame [though why he wanted that so badly he couldn't say] and since he hadn't been watching, he couldn't say for sure that it _hadn't_ been) but he had never heard anything more horrible in his life, hadn't known a human throat could _make_ that kind of noise, and it still made him feel shaky and nauseous just thinking about it. 

He'd been on his feet and running toward them before he could remember moving, only vaguely aware that everyone else was also dropping what they were doing and coming over too. He'd found himself on his knees beside Grantaire and clutching his hand in a death grip, unable to remember how he'd gotten there. Grantaire had held on with an equally crushing grip, the sound finally breaking up into smaller, quieter, hitching sobbing whines and desperate panting breaths that were no less horrible, pain bleeding through them in a nerve-flaying way. 

Enjolras had realised, belatedly, that he was shaking too, his free hand stroking through the curly dark hair in a helpless, mindless attempt at comforting, stupid and useless though it was. There were words coming out of his mouth but he had no idea what they were, equally useless and stupid because there was nothing to say that could make this any better, nothing that could touch the degree of pain wracking the other man's body. Words were such pointless, useless pathetic things, but they were all he had and maybe that made him useless and pathetic too; it wasn't like any of his words had ever had an impact on Grantaire before. 

He didn't have time, then, or thought to spare to wonder how and why he was reacting that way, why this was _killing him_ and he was refusing to let Eponine or Joly or anyone else shoulder him out of the way to take his place, anyone who was closer friends with Grantaire than he was. 

It was only later, much much later after emergency services had been called and Grantaire had been taken to the hospital and then into surgery that time slowed down and became less of a blur, suddenly crashing almost to a halt as he became aware of himself again, collapsed numbly into a chair in the waiting room and staring blankly at his trembling hands where they were lying in his lap. He felt limp and wrung out and weirdly weightless, as if he'd been hollowed out and was floating somewhere, not quite in his body anymore, and there was nothing but a screaming silence in his mind, the faintest echo of that terrible sound. 

Combeferre sat down beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder, and that was good, maybe then he wouldn't float entirely away, Combeferre would hold him down. 

"I didn't see what happened," he whispered, his emotions for once bypassing his empty mind entirely, the words coming out of his gut instead, bearing the weight of his guilt and shock and horror. "What happened?" (How could this happen? What had it even been, this awful random accident that he didn't understand because he _hadn't seen_.) "I didn't see," he whispered again, staring down at his nerveless hands as if they'd betrayed him, as if they should have stopped this, somehow (how? there was nothing anyone could have done, surely, his hands would have been as useless as anything else [there was no blood on them, of course there wasn't, there hadn't been any blood, why would there be any on his hands?]) and for once he thought he might understand how people got to a place of bitter self-loathing. 

And he didn't know why. He had no idea why it was bothering him so much, why it was making him _feel this way_. It was all so completely stupid. 

"I don't know all the details," Combeferre told him, and that was wrong, it sounded wrong, Combeferre always knew all the details, he should know these things. "It was his knee, something torn, and maybe something broken too."

Enjolras flinched and shuddered at the idea, of the pain of a knee tearing out, twisting and broken and ruined, god even the sound of it was horrifying and he clutched his own knees in some kind of sympathy or self-protection, he didn't even know. He must have made some kind of noise, because Combeferre's hand tightened on his shoulder, grounding him a little, and he leaned into it gratefully. 

"How...how bad is it?" Was it going to be okay, a full recovery and all that? He knew that Combeferre didn't know, barely heard him reply to that effect, that nobody knew that yet. He couldn't imagine a Grantaire without full use of his legs, for dancing or boxing or fencing or all the other things he did with so much grace and skill. (What if his knee never worked right again? What if he could never do all those things again, what if...) 

His mind spiraled away into ever worse case scenarios, thinking of Grantaire with a permanent limp and a cane maybe, maybe worse (could it be worse? oh god please it couldn't be worse), how that might affect him if he could no longer do so many of the things he enjoyed, (how it might drive him to drink himself to death even faster [how did he know that, _why_ did he know that it might]), how awful the recovery process would be, how very possible it was that the worst case scenario was the most likely. 

That would be terrible, horrible, awful, Enjolras couldn't bear the thought of it and he had no idea why. This went far beyond sympathy and worry for a friend; it was gut-wrenching, all-consuming, agonising. A small sound of distress escaped the back of his throat and he was dimly aware of Combeferre beside him moving his hand to rub soothingly at his back, and then another person sitting down on the other side of him - Courfeyrac, taking one of his hands and squeezing it, one or both of them murmuring quiet, comforting, steadying things, but he couldn't make out the words past the roaring in his ears. 

That terrible sound. Surely nothing good could come after that terrible sound, he knew somewhere deep in his bones that there was not going to be a best case outcome to this little nightmare. And that sound was going to haunt him, ring in his ears for possibly the rest of his life. 

"I can't," he said, shuddering, hardly knowing what he was saying or why. "I can't, I...I _can't_ , I can't, I can't..." It was almost a chant, under his breath over and over, senselessly denying the whole impossible thing. _I can't, I don't know, I didn't see, I don't understand, I can't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I don't know, I can't..._ It seemed both insane and cruel, impossible that the sun had been shining and the day had been so beautiful just a few hours before. 

He felt Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanging glances over his head, and one of them talking to someone nearby - Jehan, maybe? There were other people around (all their friends, watching him fall apart in public like this [why, _why_ was he falling apart, why was this happening]), he had to stop this, he had to shake off the storm of inexplicable emotion that was drowning him, shattering him, turning him into an empty shell that might blow away and disintegrate and scatter into pieces to the four winds.

He bit his lip hard (not till it bled, though he wanted to, wanted it to bleed, somehow that felt weirdly like justice [what the hell was wrong with him, please god make it stop] which was irrational and stupid, god he was being so stupid [make it all stop, _please_ , someone]), just hard enough to hurt, hoping the pain might give him a little focus, trying to regain some kind of control over his reactions, trying to stop the ridiculous flow of mumbled words that made no sense in any case. 

Everyone had to be thinking he was mad, and he wanted to laugh hysterically, because he was fairly sure they were right. He felt mad, like he was losing his mind and possibly his grip on reality, and _he didn't know why._

"This is so stupid," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with his hands, trying to wipe away the miasma of horror that seemed to cling to him, lifting his head finally to look shakily around him, and nearly flinching again at the number of sympathetic looks he was getting. Why, _why_ was everyone looking at him like that, (except Eponine, who was pacing and biting her thumbnail, and Bahorel who was sitting hunched over in his chair, elbows on his knees with his face in his hands, Feuilly next to him with an arm around his shoulders) like they understood, like this made _sense?_

(It didn't make sense, nothing made sense, nothing had since that sound had sliced through him and taken him over, searing every nerve ending, flooding him with madness and despair. Why him? why didn't anyone else look like they might be falling apart or floating away or screaming deep inside?)

He hunched his shoulders and folded his arms across his chest, trying to glare but he could tell it wasn't working. He hated this, he _hated_ it, but his bones were still freezing with...something (dread, horror, fear, was it fear? why?) and he couldn't shake it off. 

Something was wrong, the entire world was terribly wrong, and all he could do was sit here and wait, shaking his head quick and sharp at the quiet suggestion from Joly that maybe he should go home and get some rest. As if he could, like this. As if he wanted to face the nightmares if he tried. 

As if he would, could, leave when he still _didn't know_...it was taking so long (wasn't it? hadn't it been a long time now? [wasn't that a bad thing, if it was taking too long...the longer it took the worse the news would be, right? oh god it was taking too long] and this was so horrible, the waiting, he wanted to scream with it) and he didn't know how the surgery would turn out, if anything was ever going to be right again. 

(That wasn't right, it didn't make sense, of course things could be right again, even if Grantaire wasn't...right? No. No? no...he didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore.)

Everything was taking too long, every minute, every second ticking by was excruciating in it's length, and the hands on his back felt like the only thing that was keeping him from flying into a million pieces. All he could do was sit there, and try not to shake, and hope that they didn't let go. 

They didn't.


	2. Éponine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will be in a different POV, alternating between them and the others, but there will be more E/R chapters than not.

Eponine was pacing because she couldn't sit still, because if she did she thought she might fall into a state as bad as Enjolras or Bahorel's, both of them so deeply shaken, huddled in on themselves in uncharacteristic silence. 

She wasn't quite sure what was going on with Enjolras, but the fact that both Combeferre and Courfeyrac looked very worried about him made her think it was serious. It was bizarre, because he'd certainly never seemed to pay that much attention to R before, or care all that much; for a reaction to the incident she would have expected from him maybe, who knows, a little worried hovering on the fringes of the group at most.

But when she'd gotten to where her best friend was laying on the ground and screaming earlier (if one could call it that - the memory of the sound made her shudder), Enjolras had already been there, had been _holding his hand_ and she might've thought that it had been Grantaire who'd grabbed on and was holding him there but for the way Enjolras had _snarled_ at her when she'd tried to push him aside to take his place. 

He'd been white-faced and horrified, grimly desperate and focused on Grantaire in a way that might have made her wonder if they were in some kind of secret relationship but for the fact that she knew otherwise. She was, after all, the one who most often had to listen to R bemoaning the lack of Enjolras' awareness of his existence (except when they were arguing), and how Enjolras probably hated him, or at least merely tolerated him. 

But apparently that indifference wasn't quite so indifferent after all, though Eponine had no idea what to make of it. Enjolras hanging on to R's hand throughout the entire wait for the ambulance, his free hand shaking as it stroked through her friend's hair almost tenderly, saying ridiculous comforting things - but fiercely, and bitten off, as if they were actually orders: _shhh you're okay, you're going to be okay, just hang on, hold my hand, just hold onto me, you'll be okay, hold on_ \- demanding more than pleading, the words so incongruous to the tone they were delivered in and it would have been hilarious, it really would, except for the way R's breath had been sobbing in his throat, his body shuddering with pain. 

She winced, remembering, and hugged herself more tightly, making another circuit of the room. By the time the emergency crew had arrived, Enjolras' voice had softened to a quiet desperation, insistent but anguished, looking as though seeing R like that physically pained him, helplessly saying _I'm right here, I've got you, stay with me, okay, just hang on, I'm right here and I'm not letting go, just focus on me, I've got you...listen to me, okay, focus on my voice, I'm right here with you, please just...just hold on and listen, please listen, stay with me, okay, I'm here and I've got you, I won't let go...you'll be okay, just listen to me, I know they're just stupid words and they don't help but I don't have anything else and I need you to be okay, please be okay, I'm right here and I've got you, I'll stay with you, just hold on...please hold on..._

It was just absolutely surreal, and Eponine was sure that none of them, except possibly 'Ferre because he saw everything, and maybe Courf or Jehan, but certainly most of them had never seen that coming, that R being so badly hurt would cause Enjolras to snap like that. 

They'd had to physically restrain him from trying to force his way into the ambulance to ride with Grantaire, Combeferre and Courfeyrac dragging him off to drive him there behind it, and Eponine rather wished that R had been less hazy because in any other situation he would have maybe appreciated the irony of Enjolras freaking out over _him_ , for once, would at least have wanted to know (even though Eponine was sure he would have been as bewildered and disbelieving about it as anyone else), would have probably given anything to have Enjolras hold his hand and say things like that. 

She wasn't sure how much of all this he was even going to remember, though, once he came out of surgery. He'd been pretty out of it even before they'd doped him up, the pain taking up all of his senses. She would just have to do her best to remember as much of it as she could, so she could tell him later. 

She rather doubted Enjolras remembered much of it, either, with the state of shock he appeared to be in - not the words, anyway, and even if he did, whenever he eventually snapped out of it he was likely to deny it even happened (though if he did that she was going to punch him in the face, because _really_ ), so it was probably up to her. 

A soft touch on her shoulder broke into her thoughts, and she turned to see Cosette standing next to her with a concerned look, holding out a cup of coffee. Eponine took it gratefully, letting it warm her chilled fingers, and leaned into the warmth as her girlfriend wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close for a hug. 

"How are you holding up?" Cosette asked softly, and Eponine shrugged. 

"As well as can be expected, I guess," she muttered. Her eyes found Bahorel and lingered there for a moment, watching him worriedly, but Feuilly and Bossuet seemed to have that situation well in hand. She couldn't imagine how it would feel to know that something you did, even if it was an accident, had caused such a severe injury to someone you cared about. 

"Come sit with me," Cosette coaxed her, warm fingers tugging gently at her arm, and Eponine shook her head.

"If I sit down," she noted grimly, "I think I might end up like them." Her gaze darted back to Enjolras again, pulled there unwillingly by the strangeness of the situation, and she studied him bemusedly. He was still trembling slightly, tension in the stiff line of his shoulders, hands twisted tightly together in his lap. He was staring at them with a singleminded intensity that she'd only ever seen him apply to his studies and activism plans before. 

Cosette made a small, unhappy sound and twined closer, wrapping both arms around her and holding her close, blond curls tickling her ear where Cosette's head rested on her shoulder. 

"It's sad," Cosette said softly, sounding indeed incredibly sad. "Of all the times for Enjolras to figure out he has feelings..." Her voice trailed off as her arms tightened around Eponine's waist, pressing closer. 

Eponine blinked and stared down at her, slipping a hand into her soft hair and tugging her head up to get a look at her expression. 

"What do you mean?" she hissed softly, throwing a wary glance around at the others to make sure no one was listening. She pulled Cosette over to a corner away from any of the others and set her coffee down on a nearby chair, leaning back against the wall beside it and pulling Cosette in to stand in front of her. Cosette moved easily into the cradle of her hips, standing between her legs and threading her arms around Eponine's waist again as Eponine's hands settled on her hips. 

"What do you mean?" Eponine asked her again, keeping her voice low and frowning a little as she studied her lover's face, close enough now to kiss if that had been her intention. 

Cosette shrugged, a little self-consciously. "I mean he's been...I don't know, it's hard to explain, but I suspected that R had been getting under his skin of late - for quite some time now, I think. In a different way to normal," she hastened to add. "Not just the irritation and frustration he's always had, but different. It's--" She paused, looking thoughtful. 

"It's not quite the way he looks at him, though I've seen a few glances that made me wonder, but more there's been a sort of - pointedly not-watching going on. Not like in an ignoring way, but just hmm...avoiding? Something that was making him uncomfortable. A kind of awkwardness. And sometimes, their arguments, the tension is different. A few other little things that weren't...much, but altogether things kind of added up." She shrugged again, in a way that would have looked awkward on anyone else, but as usual with her it just looked graceful.

Sighing, Eponine dropped her head forward to rest their foreheads together, closing her eyes for just a minute, letting the warmth and comfort of their embrace sink in. 

"I didn't see anything, I never would have thought...R never did either," she murmured finally. "You really think E has...some kind of feelings for him?"

Cosette's musical laugh sounded softly for a moment, barely more than a breath. "I'd say it's pretty obvious at this point he has _something,_ " she observed, and Eponine could hear the smile in her voice. She opened her eyes to see it, and leaned forward briefly to kiss it off her face. 

"Something," she echoed, almost amused. "I've been trying to remember, the stuff he was saying, did you hear any of it? The whole time we waited for the ambulance, he just kept _talking_ at him. Like he couldn't help himself. R would - I think he would've liked to hear it, but I don't think he'll remember much besides the pain." Her face clouded again, and she shook her head worriedly. "I was trying to remember as much of what E said as I could, so I could tell him later. Even if E snaps out of it and pretends it never happened, I still think...those words could mean a lot, to R."

"I think pretty much everyone heard at least some of it," Cosette noted wryly. "But it's a good idea," she told her girlfriend gently, reaching up to push a lock of short dark hair back from her face. "I think you're right - R would want to know, or at least, he deserves to. And if Enjolras decides to clam up again and push him away and pretend he doesn't have feelings, after _this_ , well...you're not going to be the only one wanting to kick his ass for it." She wrinkled her nose, looking amused, and leaned in for another quick kiss. 

"It'll be okay," she whispered, cradling Eponine's face in her hands. "We'll all get through this together, you know we will, and if we need to knock those idiots' heads together at some point, we'll do that too."

Eponine closed her eyes again, sighing a little as she let the reassurances and warm touches sink in, trying to let herself relax a little and trust them. Trying to live up to the faith and determination in Cosette's eyes. 

Maybe. Maybe it really would be okay.


	3. Combeferre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre had never been so grateful for Courfeyrac in his life, and considering he had a great deal of thankfulness for Courfeyrac's existence on a daily basis, that was saying something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [These first few chapters are a bit slow, but it'll pick up a bit here pretty soon. :) I've never written an ensemble cast like this before so I'm taking a little time just to get to know the characters.]

Combeferre had never been so grateful for Courfeyrac in his life, and considering he had a great deal of thankfulness for Courfeyrac's existence on a daily basis, that was saying something.

This was pretty much the last way he'd ever wanted Enjolras to have to confront his feelings, because of something legitimately awful happening to Grantaire, and it was terrible to watch. Enjolras was still shaking, shoulders tight, tension in every line of him, near-invisible tremors running through him under their hands, and Combeferre didn't think he'd have been able to deal with this by himself, without Courfeyrac on the other side of Enjolras, helping him hold their friend together. Rather, he’d have been able to, but definitely wouldn’t have wanted to.

It had been nearly an hour now, and god knew how long the surgery was meant to take, but likely they weren't beyond the halfway mark yet, if that. Combeferre wasn't sure Enjolras was going to make it through the whole thing, as strung out and upset as he was. He wondered how much Enjolras had realised, wondered if he even knew why he was so shaken and falling apart like this, but now wasn't the time to talk about it.

Maybe if he'd tried talking about it before, maybe if he'd given Enjolras a little push on this sooner, maybe then he wouldn't be so in shock right now. Maybe even a confrontation, from a friend, would have been better than this. Combeferre wasn't sure how well that would have gone, if he or Courfeyrac had tried it, confronting Enjolras or even just subtly nudging him to make him realise and maybe even talk about his feelings (probably not well at all), but surely it couldn't have been this bad. He'd thought it better to leave Enjolras to figure it out in his own time, but perhaps that had been shortsighted of him.

Still, no one could have predicted this. He met Courfeyrac's eyes over the top of Enjolras' head, gathering strength from the sympathetic concern and affection and shared worry reflected there. They were better together, stronger together, especially at times like this; the two of them together, but also the three of them as friends, forged in fire so long ago. An accident, a likely tragedy like this was something none of them would have wanted to have to face, but at least none of them had to do it alone.

Sighing a little, partly in weary recognition, appreciation of their mutual affirmation, partly in relief, Combeferre shifted his hand on Enjolras' back until the tips of his fingers were brushing against Courfeyrac's, just touching, and felt a little steadier, a little of his worry easing, tension bleeding out through the warmth of the contact. It was always better when they were touching, even just a little bit. He could handle anything then, even Enjolras freaking out. However strange that last bit was.

He scanned the rest of the room automatically, keeping an eye on everyone, a general status check that he always did periodically in crisis situations like this, making sure nothing needed his attention or seemed about to go horribly wrong.

Joly caught his eye and tilted his head towards the door, silently informing him of his intent before he slipped out to go talk to a nurse or someone and see if he could get any news. Combeferre nodded back, though he doubted there was anything new yet at this point. Still, Joly was more likely than any of the others to actually get some info, considering he actually knew some of the people who worked here.

Combeferre would have done it himself, he probably knew as many of them, but he thought it was in everyone's best interests if he and Courfeyrac stayed with Enjolras right now. Bahorel didn't look much better off, but Feuilly and Bossuet were giving him the same support, and Cosette and Eponine were wrapped around each other in the corner. It was unfortunate that Marius was out of town when this happened, his presence would no doubt help them as much as Courfeyrac steadied Combeferre.

Combeferre wasn't always sure how their little trio worked, but the three of them seemed to have found an equilibrium, all of them together, that was more stable than any two of them alone, and he could appreciate that. Given how badly a serious injury to Grantaire would affect Eponine - she was both his best friend and medical proxy, more like family than anything, and it would probably be good if they had both Marius and Cosette to anchor her.

Tilting his head a little and making a soft considering noise in his throat, Combeferre glanced around the room again, looking this time for someone to delegate to, and his eyes caught and held on Jehan, arrested as he often was by the whimsical mix of conviction and absentminded grace. He was beautiful always, even fragile-seeming, but he had a core of strength that went often overlooked.

Jehan was drifting quietly around the room, not quite pacing as Eponine had been earlier, but seemingly wishing to stay close to everyone at once, just coming near enough to give a quiet word or a comforting hand to one or another of the group in turn. His own worry sat plainly on his face in between times, his eyes going unfocused and turning inward until he fetched up near enough to someone to make a brief, reassuring contact, hover for a moment, then drift off again.

Combeferre reached out to lay a hand on his arm as he came near to this side of the room again, drawing him closer to ask in a undertone if he knew whether anyone had called Marius yet. Jehan blinked slowly at him, and then his expression cleared with something like relief, probably at being given something to focus on, having something to do.

"Do you think it's that serious?" Jehan asked him, hesitating a moment before he moved, though he seemed to vibrate faintly with the kinetic potential, alight beside them like a butterfly before it took flight.

Combeferre's lips compressed, and he tilted his head noncommittally, not quite a shrug. He considered and discarded half a dozen replies, and finally said only, "It's not going to be good." That it required immediate surgery to begin with, that it was taking so long, the sound of the screams that they could all remember...there was going to be extensive physical therapy at the very least, and Jehan had already relayed the fact that Bahorel had said he heard and felt something crack when Grantaire went down. The possible implications of that and the complications it could engender, what it might mean for long term recovery prospects, made Combeferre shudder.

Grantaire was going to have a hard road ahead of him, even in a best case scenario, and the waiting to find out just how bad it was going to be - they would know more after the surgery, but to find out the full extent of what they were likely facing, it could be days yet. Eponine should have the support of both her lovers at a time like this.

Jehan only nodded, understanding, and his expression softened a little as he laid a hand on Combeferre's shoulder, squeezing briefly in comfort or assurance before he turned away, heading over to talk to the women on the other side of the room. Combeferre watched him go, sighing at little; at least that was one more thing taken care of, and he relaxed a little in spite of his worry.

He scanned the room again, landing finally on Courfeyrac to find his boyfriend watching him with a soft smile.

"We'll be okay," Courfeyrac told him quietly. "We'll manage, all of us."

Combeferre did not think 'okay' was quite the right word for it, but he knew what Courfeyrac meant. Rather than replying, he shifted his hand a little more on Enjolras' back until they could lace their fingers together across his tense shoulders.

Maybe not okay. But they would all pull through somehow, together. In their tightly knit group, what affected one, affected them all to one degree or another; and while Grantaire, being Grantaire, would likely be surprised to find them closing ranks around him and offering what help and support they could, close ranks they would, and what needed to be done would be done, as quickly and efficiently as possible, to the best of their ability.

Combeferre allowed himself to begin thinking ahead, making plans and backup plans for the forthcoming eventualities as part of his mind stayed focused on the warmth of Courfeyrac's fingers tangled with his own, the steady pressure anchoring him as his mind forged ahead.

Whatever happened, however this turned out, they were going to need to be prepared for every possible outcome. That was Combeferre's job, of sorts, and he let himself fall into it, fingers tightening a little around Courfeyrac's while his eyes tracked Jehan absently, monitoring the progress of him making sure that Marius was notified while the rest of his thoughts focused on planning and sorting possibilities and responses.

Combeferre was going to need backup plans for his backup plans, this time, not that he didn't usually make them anyway. But just now, there were too many variables to predict, so the best he could do was try to account for all of them.

His fingers flexed against Courfeyrac's, squeezing a little in both affection and gratitude, and he let it ground him as he sank deeper into his thoughts. As long as they could be prepared for whatever might happen, or at least aware and somewhat ready to face it, they could handle this. They would all, probably, come out the other side with a reasonable degree of intactness, be something like alright. Eventually.


	4. Jehan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, was working out backstory and plot stuff, and the fic ended up getting more complicated, so it took awhile. Should go more quickly from here on out, though. :)

Jehan was slow as he made his way over to the corner Eponine and Cosette had settled in, thinking hard as he debated whether or not to interrupt them, and what to say if he did. Someone needed to call Marius, if they hadn't already, but perhaps also even if they had. And perhaps it would be better if he didn't even bring it up with them, maybe that would have a detrimental effect on the way they were currently stabilising each other, if they had to start worrying about Marius 

Because they would worry about it - they wouldn't want to ask Marius to cut his trip short and come home when there was nothing he could do here, yet if they told him he would be upset and his trip would be ruined anyway; at least Eponine, certainly, would not want to bother him, and Cosette would wait to talk her into it until they actually knew anything, until Grantaire was out of surgery at least. Jehan was pretty sure they hadn't tried to contact him yet.

He watched them curiously as he moved closer, having left them to their own devices since Cosette had managed to get Eponine to stop pacing. Nobody was better at handling Eponine than Cosette, unless it was Grantaire himself, and Jehan had thought it best to give them space for it. Just now they didn't seem to be talking, but they were clearly tête à tête, some silent communication passing between them as they breathed together, resting against each other in an intimate pose that Jehan was loathe to interrupt.

Tilting his head, he paused a few metres away from them, then changed direction almost aimlessly, heading for the door this time. He hesitated briefly there, looking back at Combeferre and nodding once to let him know he was taking care of it, waiting for the answering nod before he slipped out the door.

He didn't go far, just down the hall a bit to where it was quiet and he wouldn't be bothering anyone, leaning back against the wall and bending one knee to rest his foot on it, absently grateful he'd worn a skirt today as he pulled out his phone out of his floral pattern demin jacket to call Marius.

"Sorry, I don't know if anyone called you yet, but...there's been an accident," he started, and then had to spend a couple of minutes calming Marius down and assuring him that no one was dead, and both Eponine and Cosette were fine, they weren't the ones injured. "It's Grantaire," he explained, a bit apologetic.

Marius sucked his breath in sharply, and didn't say anything for a minute - Jehan knew that his mind had turned from one of his girlfriends being injured to realising that they were still hurting, just in a different way.

"They probably didn't want me to cut my trip short," Marius finally said shakily, and Jehan knew he was probably running his fingers through his hair, trying to decide what to do.

"Likely they didn't want to upset you when they knew there wouldn't be anything you could do, even if you were here," Jehan told him gently. "But I think we all know that you'd prefer to be here, and they'd prefer to have you. It's not being selfish to prioritise being there for the people you care about most," he pointed out.

"Yeah," Marius agreed finally, sounding a little steadier, though still a bit dazed. "Yeah, okay. I'll - you think I should come back? Right away?"

"Grantaire was hurt pretty badly," Jehan told him, fiddling with his skirt, rubbing the soft fabric between his fingers. "We don't know yet how bad it's going to be, he's still in surgery, but...it's not going to be good," he echoed Combeferre, knowing what an understatement it was. "They're going to need you," he assured Marius, soft apology and sympathy in his voice. "How soon would you be able to be here?"

"Um." Marius sounded as if he were shuffling some papers, probably looking for an itinerary or something. But he was at least focused on the problem now, thinking constructively. "If I get my flight changed and leave as soon as possible, I could get back some time tonight. Before morning, anyway."

"That sounds good," Jehan told him, a bit relieved. It would be good just to have everyone together, not to have anyone missing when one of their number was down like this. The tightly knit weave of their group dynamics was rather fascinating to Jehan, and he knew that damage to one area would be less of a strain on the fabric of it if there were no holes anywhere else, especially when that hole was so near to the damage.

"I'll let them know you're coming, but you should call them as soon as you know the flight details - we'll make sure someone picks you up."

"No," Marius objected immediately, "no, don't - I can take a cab, everyone should stay together or - be getting some rest probably, at that hour. Or both. You know."

Jehan did know, and he sighed, conceding, as Marius went on.

"I'll just - get there as soon as I can, no sense in someone else having to come out just to get me." He sounded determined now, and focused, like he was already working on the problem, online to get his flight changed, and Jehan nodded.

"Travel safe," he said softly. "We'll see you soon." Marius hung up after an absent goodbye and Jehan hummed thoughtfully to himself, debating whether to tell the girls right away or wait until they'd gotten some news from the doctor. He shook out his full skirt till it hung neatly to the top of his boots again, finding the graceful drape and swish of it soothing on such a harrowing day. Definitely grateful he'd chosen today to wear it.

He slipped back into the room, glancing over at Eponine and Cosette, but found himself heading back in Combeferre's direction instead. Jehan would just let him know quick, before he went over to the girls; that would no doubt take longer.

Combeferre was clearly deep in thought, no doubt planning ahead, and Jehan paused beside the three of them, waiting patiently for him to surface rather than risk interrupting his train of thought. Now more than ever they were going to need Combeferre's habitual organisation and planning skills, keeping everyone cohesive and productive, making sure the things that needed to got done.

Jehan smiled at Courfeyrac instead, and glanced briefly at Enjolras, who still looked pretty shocky and out of it. That was really very interesting, not that now was the time to be poking at it, but he'd heard the things Enjolras had said earlier as well, and been one of the few people who wasn't terribly surprised by them. The strength of the aftermath, though, this dazed state of shock, that he wouldn't have predicted.

Enjolras freaking out, yes, but more of the stomping around and agitated needing to do something variety; this was nearer catatonia, and that was just very interesting indeed. Jehan glanced over at Bahorel and Feuilly and sighed a little; he had a feeling he was going to be the only one left in their little pining club when this was over. The fabric of the group was shifting and being rewoven in front of his eyes, and at least that was something to distract him from his worries, something to think about whenever he was feeling overwhelmed and completely useless.

"How is he?" he asked Courfeyrac softly, nodding at Enjolras.

Courfeyrac shrugged, grimacing a little. "Hasn't said anything in ages; pretty sure he can't hear us, because any time he does say something it sounds... " Really out of it, Jehan guessed by the look on his expressive face.

"I can hear you," Enjolras muttered suddenly, and much too late. Jehan exchanged a wary glance with Courfeyrac and fell silent as Courfeyrac reached up to brush Enjolras' hair back and peer at his eyes, shaking his head doubtfully.

Enjolras responded by screwing his eyes shut and shuddering a little, his lips pressed tight together as his body tensed further, then exhaling in a rush as he straightened, brutally stiff, and tried to force himself to relax a little, dropping his head to stare at the floor. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and reached for his wrist to take his pulse, sighing a little and shaking his head.

Combeferre had looked up at Enjolras' words, and he met Courfeyrac's eyes over Enjolras' bent head in one of those speaking looks they had, almost like a silent conversation. Jehan shifted slightly to remind them of his presence, relieved when Combeferre turned to him then.

"I got ahold of Marius," he reported, glad he'd been able to do at least one thing to help. He'd been feeling rather spectacularly useless, overall. "He's changing his flight, thinks he'll be in very late or early morning."

Nodding slowly, Combeferre pursed his lips a little, tilting his head as he considered something. Jehan tried to keep his expression neutral, just waiting for a reply rather than watching his mouth. He would have averted his gaze instead, but that was too obvious, and looking at Courfeyrac wasn't any better. It had taken him a long time to realise that the reason he found their mouths distracting was because he wasn't just asexual; he'd known that since he was fourteen, and assumed he'd never have to deal with relationships and dating and the often messy feelings that went along with them, but no -- he was a romantic ace, he could still fall in love and he apparently had, though he hadn't really figured it out until it was too late.

It had never really occurred to him as a possibility, until the two of them had begun dating a few years ago and his emotions had nearly drowned him; hurt and confusion and jealousy like he'd never felt before, never thought he could feel. Realising he was in love and he'd really like to find out what it was like to kiss someone was surprising enough that the fact it was apparently both of them he was in love with didn't even register as weird.

Well, it did, eventually, but he'd already resigned himself to silence simply because dating an asexual was hard, and very few people wanted to deal with that. He doubted it had ever occurred to them to even think of him that way. And now they had each other, and well...occasionally things like Eponine and Cosette and Marius happened, and seemed to work for those people, but it was a rare enough thing without adding in asexuality on top of it.

It was too much to ask for, he thought, and he didn't want to throw that big of a wrench into the group dynamic -- he cared more about preserving the fabric than anything else, he didn't want to risk shredding their little section of it, especially since Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras were the heart of the whole weave. Everything depended on them, and Jehan knew he was a fairly central link himself. Creating a huge rent to one side of them wasn't worth the risk.

"Ask Cosette if everyone can stay at her place tonight," Combeferre said slowly at last, sounding as if that were only part one of a thousand other things he was thinking about. Combeferre's mind was truly an amazing thing, Jehan thought.

"Fantine's?" he answered, nodding. The giant house Cosette had grown up in was well known to them all at this point, it being a convenient place for gatherings and parties. They'd even had meetings there on occasion, when other space hadn't been available. But mostly they used it for house parties, times when they were taking a week or a weekend to all rest and recharge and sleep in the same place, hanging out and sometimes making plans, intensifying that unique kind of synergy the group had when they all got together.

Cosette had moved out, eventually, when she and Eponine and Marius had found a place together. But Fantine and Valjean were always happy to have her back, even if it meant hosting all of them, and they'd been kind to everyone, supportive of the group in general in more than one way.

"I'll ask her, but she's likely thought of it already," Jehan pointed out. In any case, he thought it would be a relief to everyone to not have to scatter tonight, after what had happened today.

Combeferre nodded. "Likely so, but she may not have thought to warn her parents that we'd be descending on them," he pointed out, looking a bit rueful even though they had never minded before.

"Got it," Jehan assured him, allowing himself a brief touch to Combeferre's shoulder and a warm smile for Courfeyrac before he drifted off in their direction, Combeferre's attention already shifting to Joly as he re-entered the room. He didn't look as if he had gotten much in the way of news, so Jehan didn't bother waiting to hear what he'd have to say.

Time to let the women know their lover was on his way home, and hopefully it would ease both their minds a little.


	5. Feuilly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He fixed his eyes on his hand where it was wrapped tightly around Bahorel's larger one, forcing himself to think only about the way their skin tones contrasted, as if he were going to draw them on his tablet and needed to find the right colour on his digital palette for each of them; his own lighter, creamed-coffee fall leaf brown against Bahorel's darker cinnamon. Over on his right, Bossuet's hand on Bahorel's knee was darker still, mocha or espresso.

He had been sitting here with one arm around Bahorel's slumped shoulders, hovering between useless, anxious concern and anger for what felt like hours, and perhaps it had been. He hadn't checked the time recently, didn't care.

Feuilly preferred the anger to fear, anger was a far more productive emotion, but it was equally useless at the moment, and he didn't know who or what he was angry with anyway. All he could do was sit here with an arm around his distraught best friend, pressed close from shoulder to waist and gripping Bahorel's left hand tightly with his free hand in silent support.

Bossuet was sitting on the right at Bahorel's other side, his usually cheerful dark face creased with worry, and the wrongness of the sight of it did nothing for the sick knot of dread in Feuilly's stomach, a knot the ephemeral anger could not dislodge or fully disguise.

He told himself the fear-to-anger reflex (once identified, easier to dismiss, or embrace if it might be useful) was counterproductive anyway; the longer it hovered, targetless, the more it made him want to be angry _with_ someone, made him start to distrust his friends' reactions and feel wary about how they were going to treat Bahorel after this.

It was ridiculous to think any of them would blame him; the only person who was going to blame Bahorel for any of this was himself, but the protective concern he felt about that, combined with the anxiety-driven ire as it surged and ebbed in sick-making waves of hot and cold in his gut, was making Feuilly feel paranoid as it sought to jump to conclusions and find a focus other than general bitter fury at the situation.

There was enough of that, as it was; he hated the unfairness of it - Bahorel having to bear a burden like this, knowing he'd severely injured a friend, even accidentally, and of Grantaire being so badly hurt on top of the rest of the shite he had to deal with in his life. Neither one of them deserved any of this. Definitely the additional anger was not useful right now, counterproductive and foolish besides, and Feuilly pushed it away again, trying to focus.

He fixed his eyes on his hand where it was wrapped tightly around Bahorel's larger one, forcing himself to think only about the way their skin tones contrasted, as if he were going to draw them on his tablet and needed to find the right colour on his digital palette for each of them; his own lighter, creamed-coffee fall leaf brown against Bahorel's darker cinnamon. Over on his right, Bossuet's hand on Bahorel's knee was darker still, mocha or espresso.

It was a familiar way to distract himself, thinking about colours and framing, composition and light, though he had less time for actually drawing than he'd like, whether it was digital or a more traditional kind of sketching. He had his own mechanic shop now, and could - to a point - set his own hours, but the shop was busy, and he worked a second job at the coffeeshop, as well as doing freelance graphic design. He did more drawing for other people than he did for himself, most of the time.

But he still planned things out and thought about them in his head, and matching colours was something he did a lot, almost absently sometimes. He liked colours, noticed them everywhere he went, bright spots in the room or on the street, or in the people around him, all the shades of clothes and complexions - he'd spent time in the past doing this for all his friends at one time or another, noting the colours they were most likely to wear, tagging skin and hair and eyes with colour codes. They were a pretty diverse group, with a wide range of all three, really.

He'd even amused himself by ranking them in a spectrum, ordering his friends from dark to light based on different characteristics, or a combination of several. He could distract or occupy himself for hours with thoughts of colour and light and the drawings and images he composed in his head, but just now he was finding it hard to keep his thoughts focused.

Every time a shudder passed through Bahorel's shoulders under his arm, or Bossuet spoke in his soft warm rumble, or Jehan drifted near to check in with them, Feuilly was pulled out of his concentration, not that it was all that good to begin with. There was too much on his mind. He shouldn't even be here, should be working right now, he still had so much to do today, but there was no way he could leave. Not now, not like this.

Eponine would understand; after all, she was here too. He realised with a start that he had no idea what time it was, someone would have to pick Gavroche up from school, fuck, the kids - he tried to catch her eye across the room, and failing that, he flagged down Jehan.

"Go ask her if someone's checked on the kids," he said tersely, "if they need - fuck, what time is it?" He fumbled for his phone. "I need to pick Gav up from school, or--if I'm not there, he'll just go home, he has a key, but--fuck, I don't know, just ask her, okay?" One of them should have thought of it before this, dammit. Today was just all fucked up.

Jehan merely nodded and left, while Bahorel groaned beside him. "Shit, I didn't even think - I'm sorry, little Fee," he said wretchedly, trying to hunch in on himself a little more, which Feuilly didn't think was even possible. The return of the childhood nickname worried him more.

"Shut up, Brel," he answered in kind, rapping his friend's shoulder with a closed fist. "Ain't your fault, y'know that. Ain't none of this your fault. We'll figure it out, it'll be fine. It's all gonna be fine." He was trying to convince himself as much as Bahorel, and they both knew it, but after a moment more of tension Bahorel's shoulders slumped again and he leaned into Feuilly a little more.

"You're fine," Feuilly murmured again, running a comforting hand over his friend's close-cropped hair. He wanted to believe they were all going to be fine, somehow. From across the room, Eponine gave him a thumbs up, and he nodded back, assured that she would let him know if she needed him to do anything. The kids, at least, would be alright.

The rest of them...well, depending on how well Grantaire recovered, Feuilly wasn't too sure any of them would be alright again. If, at worst, if they lost Grantaire - because his state of mind if he ended up crippled for life was highly doubtful - if they lost him, it would punch a big fucking hole in their group. Apparently, even Enjolras would go spare if that happened.

Which was kind of a stunner, to be honest, but Feuilly was more worried about Bahorel; Enjolras had enough people worrying about him, he didn't need Feuilly, but Bahorel did. Feuilly was his best friend, if not more than that - he wished it was more than that, to the point that he'd joined Grantaire's little pining club; himself, Grantaire, Eponine, and Jehan got together every so often to get very drunk and talk about the ones they wanted but couldn't have.

Eponine, of course, had finally gotten together with Marius and Cosette, so technically she didn't fit the qualifications anymore, but she still came, most of the time, because no one was better at handling Grantaire when he was drunk and depressed about Enjolras. It would feel weird to kick her out, anyway, it had been just the four of them for so long.

But if Enjolras was this upset, and saying the things he'd said, then probably there was something there, so pretty soon their group was going to be dwindling down pathetically. Feuilly himself, and Jehan were probably going to be all that was really left, and even if the others kept coming to drink with them, it wouldn't be the same.

Not that he would wish continued misery on anyone, especially Grantaire. If Enjolras really did have feelings for him, it might be the only thing that could pull Grantaire through a rough recovery, which Feuilly considered almost a certainty because their luck, especially Grantaire's luck, was just never that good. Whatever the ultimate outcome was, it was going to be bad, and his own priority was going to be keeping Brel on an even keel and not letting him blame himself completely for the whole thing.

He looked up in surprise, some minutes later, when Eponine came over and crooked her finger at him, motioning him to follow her. Feuilly hesitated, feeling torn, but there was the kids to think of and he couldn't let them down. He dared to brush a quick kiss on Bahorel's temple, barely there and gone, light and affectionate and hopefully friendlike enough not to cause comment.

"I'll be right back," he murmured as he extricated himself gently, squeezing the hand he held as he let go, and giving Bossuet a stern and meaningful look. _Take care of him._ Of course he would, of course any of them would, but Feuilly was feeling too protective and possessive to admit that anyone other than himself could do a good enough job of watching over his best friend when he was in this state.

Sighing, he followed Eponine out into the hall beyond the waiting room, and folded his arms, waiting for her to get to the point.

"Cosette's going to pick up Azelma," Eponine told him, rushed and jittery, rubbing her palms on her thighs. She looked completely strung out, albeit in somewhat better shape than Bahorel and Enjolras. "I need...I need someone to get Gavroche, either from school or from your place, I don't want him to stay there alone, especially when..." She swallowed hard and looked away, but Feuilly knew.

Grantaire was almost more than an uncle to those kids, nearly a second dad, though Feuilly supposed he and Bahorel filled some of that function too. But regardless, they were going to freak out when they heard about this, and they shouldn't be alone.

"Please, can you...please," she said, turning those dark blue eyes on him in a pleading expression, stark on her pale face. "He'll go to your place, you could just run there and back...it wouldn't take long. I can't leave," she noted wretchedly. "I'm his medical proxy, I have to be here in case...in case..." She stopped, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth and looking away. Out of range of Cosette's stabilising influence, she was trembling now, fine tremors barely visible as they shook her body.

Feuilly bit his lip, hating all the choices, and reached up to squeeze her shoulder and rub her arm reassuringly. "Shh," he murmured helplessly. "It'll be okay, it's going to be okay..." But he couldn't promise that, none of them could know that.

"Shut up," she told him as those platitudes deserved, swiping angrily at her tears. "Just please, go get my brother? Please," she begged him.

It drew jagged furrows across his soul, and his shoulders hunched inward against the pain, trying to protect himself as he folded his arms more tightly across his middle. He wanted to do whatever he could to help, for the kids' sake, but this felt like an impossible choice. He felt torn in two, wanting so badly to help her, and the kid he was so fond of, but at the same time, the idea of leaving Bahorel like this, even for just a little while, made him feel like his mind was breaking apart, he couldn't stand it.

"I can't," he said finally, wretched and grieving. "I have to, have to stay with him, I can't... _please,_ Ep, you know I can't," he begged her desperately. Begged her to understand, to remember how it felt to love someone so hopelessly and yet feel the need to do anything and everything you could for them. To just be there, especially when they needed you, no matter what. "He can stay at my place, it's safe enough, but I can't go, _księżniczka,_ I...I _can't."_

"I don't have anyone else," Eponine told him angrily, fear and worry making her temper short even as she swiped irritably at her eyes again. "Please, Fee... _please,_ I need your help."

What was with everyone reverting to old school age nicknames today? Feuilly shook his head, sharp and angry now himself. Damn her for trying to use that against him, but it rather backfired because it was the name Bahorel called him, the name Brel had first given him so long ago, and there was no way, he wasn't _capable_ of abandoning him now.

"I can't," he insisted, sharp and annoyed, the anger he'd been pushing back all this time surging forward now that it had a target. "I can't, I would if I could, you _know_ that, but I can't, Epi, I can't leave him like this. He needs me, he needs _me_ , more than you. Gav will--" he bit his lip hard, feeling guilty, but Gavroche was tough and good at taking care of himself. "Gav will be fine, you know it. He's got a key, he'll be at my place, he'll be safe."

"No!" Eponine snarled back at him, and Feuilly barely noticed they had both raised their voices beyond what was normally acceptable in a hospital. Not a lot, but enough. "I can't leave him there alone at a time like this, someone has to get him," she said adamantly, and Feuilly felt for her, he really did, and he had kind of promised, but he just...couldn't. Not this time.

"Find someone else," he told her grimly.

"There is no one else!" she hissed at him, still more loudly than was good, and the tears were leaking from her eyes again even though she was glaring furiously at him.

"Hey, hey," said a soothing voice from behind them. "What's going on here?"

They both swung around to face Joly, and the glares they'd been directing at each other focused on him. He should have flinched, but instead he just looked calmly back at them, raising an eyebrow.

"Ep wants me to go pick up Gav," Feuilly muttered finally. "But I _can't,_ Brel--"

"Needs you," Joly cut in, "yes, I understand." He turned to face Eponine fully, raising both eyebrows and smiling a little. "Will I do, then? I would be happy to help, if you need someone," he assured her gently.

Eponine let out an explosive sigh, blowing out her breath and looking around aimlessly, as if a better solution might pop out of thin air. She hated asking favours of people that she saw as being on a different social level, Feuilly knew, but Joly was offering and it really was the best solution they had at the moment.

"I guess," she grumbled finally, scowling through the rapidly drying tear tracks on her cheeks. "Fine, whatever. He'll be at Feuilly's when he gets done with school, you can pick him up from there."

Feuilly dug his keys out of his pocket without prompting, taking the house key off the ring and handing it to Joly.

"Don't worry," Joly told Eponine kindly, his eyes twinkling a little as he gave her a sympathetic smile. "I'll make sure he's safe and sound, and bring him back here if you want."

"That would probably be best," Eponine admitted, letting out a long sigh and scrubbing her fringe back from her forehead, rubbing absently at the hairline. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and the fight went out of her as she conceded the issue.

Feuilly wrapped an arm around her in a one-armed hug, and gently steered her back to the waiting room, throwing Joly a grateful smile over his shoulder. Joly nodded at him, quick and firm assurance, and Feuilly turned his attention to getting Eponine back in to where Cosette was waiting for her, because this was more than he could deal with right now, and what she really needed was Cosette anyway.

"It'll be okay," he murmured to her as they reentered the room, and it felt a little more true this time. "Joly will take care of him, the kids will be fine."

She shuddered a little. "I wish - I don't want them _here,_ gods, I don't want them to know about this until they have to, but...I need them where I can see them," she admitted, shoulders tensing again under his arm.

"It's okay," Feuilly soothed her, walking her straight over to Cosette, kissing her forehead as he handed her over. "They need _you_ most of all, and to not be kept in the dark or shunted aside. It's good. You're doing the right thing, for you and for them. It'll work out, I promise." That much, at least, he could promise - between the two of them, and Cosette and Marius, no matter what happened with Grantaire they would make sure the kids were alright.

"Yeah," she agreed as Cosette's arms closed around her, resting her head on the familiar shoulder. Cosette was looking worriedly at Feuilly, wondering what was going on, but he would leave it up to Eponine to tell her as much as she wanted to.

Instead he shrugged, touching two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute, and managed a smile for Cosette before he hurried away, back to his own seat. There was someone here who needed his attention much more than Eponine, at the moment.

"Here I am," he murmured as he slid back into place beside Bahorel, gripping his hand again. "Came right back, Brel, I told you." He wrapped his right arm around Bahorel's shoulders as before, squeezing tight as Bahorel leaned into him. Yeah, this was where he belonged.

Maybe it wasn't quite what he wanted, but it was enough. For now, it was enough. Just to be here, being what Brel needed. He was born for that, and he would do it well, whether or not his friend ever returned his feelings. That just...wasn't terribly important right now. He was here, and Brel needed him, and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _księżniczka_ \- (Polish) n. princess


End file.
